Wacraft: Exile
by Arctur
Summary: Three factions from the war in Beyond the Dark Portal flee to a new world and struggle to survive. Reviews Welcome
1. Default Chapter

Warcraft: Exile  
  
Prologue  
  
Lightning crisscrossed the blood red sky. Violent winds threw coarse sand up in the air, much of it flying through the eye sockets of Teron Gorefiend. There were no eyeballs for the sand to blind however, and the airborne dirt did nothing to impede his spectral sight. He, the mortal orcs who bowed before him and his fallen wizards now imprisoned within reanimated husks had struck out on their own, leaving their 'leader'- Orc Warchief Ner'zhul to his fate. If the mad shaman, so obsessed with his own petty schemes he was blind to the outside world, even noticed their desertion he was likely past caring.  
  
To the Twisting Nether with that scatterminded fop, Gorefiend silently oathed. Since returning from Azeroth with the journal of a dead magician Ner'zhul had ignored what was happening outside his sanctum. Humans had come into the Orc homeworld with a vengeance. Zeth'kur was sacked and its ships left burning while knights and dwarf gunmen had slaughtered the Shattered Hand Orcs on their way to exterminate the Bleeding Hollow clan at Auchindoun. The support promised by Deathwing and his dragons never came, but the Warchief cared naught about any of it.  
  
Well Gorefiend would not stand by and wait for death to claim him again. The Ogre Mage Dentarg had foreseen the Warsong Clan attacking the human garrison Hellfire Citadel in the hope of fighting their way into Azeroth. With the pace Teron and his followers made they would hopefully reach Hellfire when the fighting was at its earnest, then blast both weakened factions and invade the humans' world without resistance.  
  
Of course if things went according to plan Gorefiend would have never needed to be brought back from the dead. The rehearsed shriek reached Gorefiend's nonexistent ears. Looking up the warlock saw Kraugg return from his patrol. Black wings folded behind the half-dragon Orc as he bowed his head to Teron, "Two armies are heading towards Ner'zhul's location. Humans march side by side with Orcs bearing the colours and banners of the Laughing Skull clan."  
  
"Traitors!!" one of the Orc Necrolytes, those of Gorefiend's followers that still drew breath- shouted.  
  
"Should they waste their lives fighting on the losing side just to buy time for a mad fool?" Gorefiend retorted before he turned to Kraugg, "How strong are these armies?"  
  
"Large enough to crush Ner'zhul and the few followers he has left. But they're taking the straightest route through the Blade's Edge Mountains- a place most suitable for ambush."  
  
A warlock approached Gorefiend, "Great Blackguard, why endanger ourselves by attacking these flesh worms? Let them kill Ner'zhul for us."  
  
Sickly green fires flared in Gorefiend's eye sockets, "Perhaps- but they might not reach Ner'zhul in time to stop whatever he's planning. No, we'll kill these conquering heroes, and draw upon their life energies to take us to a safe world where no one has resisted our kind before."  
  
Kraugg's wings stretched out and pushed him back into the air, "I will show you where they march."  
  
The Humans and their new allies stomped through the beaten road at a fierce pace. Both heads of the Laughing Skull chieftain Mogor, the Ogre Mage bellowed curses and threats to his warriors. Varien Wynn eschewed verbal abuse; choosing to motivate his Humans, as well as the Dwarves, Elves and Gnomes in their ranks; by belting out ballads which the troops joined in eagerly.  
  
It appeared to Gorefiend that in the Human army there were women, as well as Elf and Dwarf females. Perhaps their victories had been more costly than he realized; their men had suffered such severe losses they were forced to recruit women. Or maybe they never were content merely to stop Ner'zhul from learning to create portals to other worlds; maybe they intended to colonize this planet all along. But if they succeeded in slaying Ner'zhul and crushed the Warsong clan, where would that leave the Laughing Skull? Would the Humans really consider coexisting with Orcs; and could Orcs that would side against their species be trusted?  
  
It mattered not, really. He would take their lives here and use them for his own. As Gorefiend readied to signal the ambush the unthinkable happened.  
  
Across the sky and upon the ground thousands of spatial rifts; much like the one that connected Draenor to Azeroth, opened from nowhere! Teron was aghast. Had Ner'zhul truly gone mad? The stresses from so many rifts at once would tear the planet apart. The very ground cracked under his feet, winds grew into tree tearing ferocity and in the distance a mountain was blasted apart by a colossal geyser beneath it.  
  
The Humans and traitorous Orcs quickly realized the gravity of the situation and bolted toward the nearest rift. The Laughing Skull warriors reached it first and thundered through to whatever lay on the other side. Upon reaching the opening the human prince and dwarf leader waved their subjects through ahead of themselves.  
  
Gorefiend decided his one chance of escape was fading. He shouted to his followers to be ready to run, and ordered his undead warlocks to prepare a concealment spell. At one the deserters began to move. 


	2. Exile Chapter 1: One Problem at a Time

Warcraft: Exile  
  
Chapter 1: One Problem at a Time  
  
Varien Wrynn opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the battle-scarred face of the Dwarf Kurdan. Hardly a pleasing shape to the eye, but it convinced Varien he was alive. He started to rise but a rush of pain stayed him.  
  
"Welcome back to life, Manling" Kurdan chuckled.  
  
Varien managed to sit upright, "What happened?" The last thing he remembered was seeing his soldiers through the rift as the world of Draenor crumbled around him.  
  
"You and I were the last ones leaving that red mudball; the last people, anyway. Some dark cloud appeared and blitzed through our ranks. Something must have hit you hard, you've been out for hours."  
  
"It's a shame we all don't have skulls as hard as yours." Standing finally Varien saw wherever they were had a blue sky, yellow sun and long green grass for miles. He also saw only a fraction of his troops in the small encampment, "What happened to the others? Where's Rogket?"  
  
"The cloud scattered everybody," Kurdan ran a hair along the edge of his axe; it cut cleanly. I've sent scouts to find the rest and bring them back, but I haven't heard from the dwelf."  
  
Right then a several clusters of Alliance troops approached from over the hills, and a dwarf signalled the Griffon it rode to descend, "The Laughing Skull?" Varien was a little afraid to ask.  
  
"They kept running and never looked back. As for whatever the cloud was, it's vanished from sight too." Kurdan stood and approached the Griffon rider, "You know, they only sided with us so they'd have power when the war was done, if Draenor really died they might consider all bets off. We should-"  
  
"One problem at a time, Kurdan." Varien rubbed his sore head, "Find the rest of our people, worry about the Orcs later."  
  
Kurdan nodded. He and Varien turned to the griffon rider who made his report, "We've found pockets of our people all around. The rest of the riders are sticking with some militiamen, a griffon is wounded and they won't leave her. Neither the archmage or Alerria's rangers have reported back."  
  
"Tell them to sit tight, we'll link up with them as one." Varien told the dwarf. The rider pointed to the nearest troops and took off.  
  
Prince Wrynn studied Kurdan's face, and saw longing. The dwarf king still mourned his faithful mount, had refused to ride another. Varien hated to see Kurdan's heart break; he barked the order to move out. Kurdan's face changed, focusing solely on the task at hand.  
  
Slowly they gathered their strength together. Finally heading toward the where the peasants and Griffon riders waited, the sounds of shouts and fighting spurred them to run.  
  
The battle was already over. Peasants tended to the wounds of three griffons and spears protruded from a fallen dwarf. An assortment of Orc and troll bodies lay scattered around the perimeter.  
  
"They showed up moments ago," A peasant clutched a stick with white cloth flapping from it, "We held up a flag of truce, reminded them we were allies, But they didn't care, they just charged."  
  
The grass rustled, everyone turned expecting another rush relaxed to see an elf equipped as one of Alleria's rangers, "Thank Drath'Remar I found you," The elf pointed far ahead, "Alleria and the other rangers are cut off by Orcs. Archmage Rogket is unconscious and they can't hold their ground much longer."  
  
Varien ordered several knights dismount. He took a horse, as did Kurdan, several dwarf gunners and three clerics, "Everyone else stay close and look out for each other!" They rode at utmost speed.  
  
Up ahead Alleria and her rangers held a tight circle around the prone wizard. The Orcs had come in waves, the rangers each time shot them all down but had taken losses, and were running out of arrows. As Varien and his reinforcements saw them another surge of Orcs, this time with a massive Ogre in the lead stormed toward the elves.  
  
Defiant to the end, the rangers loosed their remaining arrows. Some of them drew swords and rushed into mêlée; the Ogre swatted two aside with one swing of his cudgel before bearing it down on Alleria. She back-flipped out of the weapon's path and sent an arrow through each of the Orge's heads.  
  
Just as the Ogre fell forward an Orc standing behind him vaulted over the cretin's body and downed Alleria with a slash across her chest. The Orcs enveloped the other rangers and the assassin stood over Rogket ready to end the wizard's life.  
  
He never got the chance. Kurdan hurled forth his storm hammer; it crashed into the assassin and sent him flying, dead before he even left the ground. The Orcs panicked and turned to run but the dwarf handgunners shot them all down. Varien and the clerics leapt from their mounts.  
  
"Look after Rogket, I'll help Alleria!" Varien rushed to her body. She was hurt but still clung onto life. Varien held her up and started to invoke a healing prayer.  
  
The slash began to close; Varien afforded himself a smile, only to feel horror the next moment. Alleria shrieked, her eyes went white, her whole body spasmed. The wound ceased to close, her skin shrunk and withered. She was completely cold.  
  
Her scream turned the clerics' heads; one of them hurried to the crying Varien "What happened, Prince?"  
  
"I don't know! The wound was closing, she should have come back, she should have come back." Varien let Alleria's body fall, the cleric lifted him to his feet. Turning his head the Prince saw Rogket. The half-elf/half-dwarf wizard was groggy, and need the clerics to support him, but he lived.  
  
By nightfall they had made shelter. Making their way close to a forest with purple-leafed trees they hacked down enough to make a stockade. Small tents and lean-tos were assembled, the largest stood in the center of the base. Varien sat sullenly, unable to get Alleria's death out of his mind. He looked to the magi, who gathered around Rogket studying the stars.  
With pointed ears and bulbous nose, long thin limbs reaching from a wide, round body the dwelf looked a caricature of the older folk. The Archmage fiddled with the device he held, then hung his head in frustration and approached Vairen, "Alas Prince Wrynn, I recognize none of the stars or constellations."  
  
"Could they look different from another part of Azeroth?"  
  
"There would be some our ancestors would have seen and recorded. We're definitely seeing them from the angle of another world, assuming we're even in the same universe. Some of the magi insist Draenor was the corrupt counterpart of our world so theoretically speaking."  
  
"Hang the theories! Can we find a way back home or not?"  
  
"No, at least not until we know where we are now."  
  
Varien buried his head in his hands. He was supposed to rebuild Azeroth, not be helpless and stranded Medivh-knew-where. Damn the Orcs! Damn Ner'zhul, and Gul'dan and the demons and anything else he might have overlooked!  
  
"It's not as bad as all that, manling," Kurdan stepped forward, "Here the air is clean, the day is warm; there's plenty of game and lush plant life." The dwarf looked right into Varien's eyes, "There are far worse places we could have run into."  
  
Varien finally tired of self-pity, rising to his feet he slung his sword across his back, "Let's look for a place where we can quarry stone; if we're going to be stranded here we might as well build proper shelter."  
  
Kurdan and Rogket barked out orders, the entire army swirled into action. Varien looked out into the grasslands. The Laughing Skull Clan was out there, cowering, probably plotting revenge for their assassin. And then there was whatever had killed Alleria.  
  
Were the Orcs ready for it? 


	3. Exile 2: Old Rot and New Growth

Warcraft: Exile  
  
Chapter 2- Old Rot and New Growth.  
  
Alleria lingered in a haze. She folded her arms around her to keep the cold away but it did not good. She couldn't bring her self to look outward until she tried to walk. Her foot found no resistance, like she was suspended in the air.  
  
Looking below she saw her feet indeed floating above the grass, but her legs and body were nearly transparent. Terrified by what she saw Alleria closed her eyes only to find the lids covered nothing. What had she become?  
  
"By now you're probably coming out of shock and wondering what has happened to you." The words gurgled like a polluted lagoon.  
  
Alleria whipped her head toward the voice, her spectral Hair flying like behind her. The figure wore rusted scale armour and helmet instead of the old telltale robe, but immediately she recognized the aura of Teron Gorefiend, "What have you done to me, Monster?"  
  
Gorefiend cackled, the head of his ensorcelled mace pulsing sickly green light, "I have recruited you. You serve me now, Elf."  
  
How dare he! Alleria grew enraged, but before she could lash out agony overwhelmed her, she could not concentrate on attacking Gorefiend.  
  
"Yes you'll find that attacking me is quite painful; as is disobeying me. Your mind may hate me and my commands but you're incapable of defiance."  
  
"To Hell with you, Death Knight!"  
  
"Death Knight? Yes. that's what my brothers and I were called. But as the Knights these bodies were have decayed beyond recognition and we were born as Orcs, a new title seemed in order. We are the Urughul- the Orcwraiths and we own you, our Lannan-Shee."  
  
Gorefiend and Alleria turned toward the sound of flapping wings. A monster with the frame and fangs of an Orc but covered with black scales and held aloft by membranous wings addressed Gorefiend, "Great Blackguard, the Orcs and Humans have set up camp. They seem worried about each other, I'm not sure if they know we're here at all."  
  
"Then we should disappear before they stumble on us. Tell the others to move out, I don't want the Orcs or the Humans aware of us until we're strong enough to annihilate both."  
  
Alleria hovered in the direction Gorefiend prodded the blasphemy against nature he rode. But while Alleria's ghostly form obediently followed the Blackguard, her thoughts were of rebellion. If the undead wanted secrecy, she had to deny them it. Alleria taxed her mind for a way to warn the humans- or even the Orcs; something told her the Laughing Skull clan would not welcome this necromantic plague.  
  
* * *  
  
Mogor held his palm over the cup while he shook it. Turning the cup over the bones fell and scattered on the dirt. The pattern bore grim news, news he was unsure he should reveal. Sounds of an argument came closer. Mogor rose and looked on the Orc hunters returned from their mission. Several warriors including Assassin Troloak had fallen behind and Mogor ordered the Orcs to find them.  
  
The lead scout kneeled before Mogor, "We found Assassin Troloak and the other stragglers. " Beads of nervous sweat trickled the length of the scout's sloping brow, "They're all dead."  
  
Mogor's expressions did not change, "Killed by humans?"  
  
"Yes, at least that's how it looks. A lot of them had arrows or musket balls in them. Something hit Troloak hard, his back had completely caved in."  
  
The other hunters had fidgeted while the leader made his report, one of them blurted, "Tell him about the Elf bitch!" He quieted down when the scout leader slapped him.  
  
"What Elf bitch?" One pair of Mogor's eyes fixed on the loudmouth, the other on the scout leader.  
  
"We found a body, she was shrivelled up, like she'd been dead for days." The scout leader's hands covered his throat as if he expected it to be torn open, "She'd been cut, but we're sure something else had killed her. But we don't know what."  
  
Mogor's brows furrowed, "Well it seems I have some bad news for you. I've been consulting the bones about your families."  
  
Families?" A condition of siding with the humans against Ner'zhul was that the females and younglings of the Laughing Skull Clan would be given shelter, "The humans turned them away?"  
  
"I don't think they got the chance. The human ships bearing your families never reached port," Mogor's right head turned toward the bones, "I read the ships were burning and sunk by Orc ships coming from the east. If memory serves, the Warsong clan controlled an island to the east."  
  
The hunters lowered their heads, "Gone. The ones we thought would be saved if we helped the humans, all gone."  
  
Mogor rolled an eye at the sentimental thugs, "It gets even better. The humans brought some of their females along; they'll be able to breed. But we, it seems will dwindle down to nothing."  
  
The words stung the Orcs even harder, and their expressions shifted from sorrow to rage. The loudmouthed one clenched his fists and started to yell, "I say we hit the humans! Kill all the men and take the females for ourselves!"  
  
"You idiot," Mogor snarled, "The humans are on their guard now, how many of us would get killed; only for years later the children to backstab the rest as revenge for the rape of their mothers?"  
  
"But we have to do something-"  
  
"What you have to do is shut up and go back to your post. The witch doctors and I will deal with this. puzzle. And make it clear that anyone who attacks the humans against my orders had better hope to die at their hands before they fall into mine." The Orcs scattered and Mogor walked away grumbling.  
  
For all his boasts, Mogor's divining sessions with the witch doctors was unproductive; to the point where Mogor drifted to sleep during meditation. His dreams were strange; he saw a farm were something kept birds similar, at least in appearance, to chickens. He saw them through the eyes of a being native to this world that fed the birds some of its blood and was rewarded when the birds' eggs hatched more of his kind instead of chicks.  
  
Mogor awoke. He knew where to find these birds. He awoke his the witch doctors, "We have somewhere to go."  
  
The farm had fallen to ruin and whomever it belonged to were long gone but the birds had stayed and bred wild. Mogor drew some of his blood and fed three birds it before commanding several Orcs, Trolls and Ogres to do the same. His underlings were sceptical but complied anyway, more to appease Mogor than anything.  
  
It took twenty days for the eggs to hatch. While his warriors were fascinated by their kind hatching from bird eggs, Mogor was angry that only males had hatched and murdered the infants in a tantrum of fury. Now more despondent than ever, Mogor took one of the birds and disembowelled it to read the entrails. He thought to himself how much the large intestine looked like an earthworm.  
  
Mogor froze. Once on Draenor, he'd had to visit one of his clan's farms, and how the orcs fed their fowl worms and insects as well as grain. An irrelevant recollection to someone else, it made Mogor wonder if he would have to feed the birds something besides blood. Then he thought of the dead Elf bitch. Calling for the hunters who had found them, "This dead she-elf, you found any other human bodies near?"  
  
"No sir. We found signs some had been dragged or carried away, but they left her behind, like they were afraid of it."  
  
"You'll lead me to this body. For your sake I hope the scavengers are just as afraid as the humans."  
  
Sneaking through the grass; as well as can be expected of a massive two- headed brute to sneak anywhere, the hunters led Mogor to the hill on which the she-elf had been found. Despite having brought six wolfriders and eight axe-throwing armed trolls; Mogor was reluctant to rush headfirst, at least when he had another option. Casting the appropriate spell, a disembodied eye materialized and hovered to the top of the hill.  
  
The elf was there, with no sign of further decay, and while Mogor noticed the fallen Orcs and Ogres had been picked clean, she was untouched.  
  
Abruptly the eye saw far off movement. Mogor sent the eye to investigate, flying under the grass to avoid being noticed. He saw Human foot troops, dwarf gunners and an elf guiding them. He also saw the humans carried large amounts of dead wood and two of them held torches.  
  
Whether they had put it off because of fear or because the need to fortify was urgent, Mogor knew they had come to burn the she-elf's body and he would not have that. Terminating his spy spell, Mogor looked at his hunters and thought quickly. Upon casting a bloodlust spell rage enveloped the Orc hunters and sent them charging the humans. They had no chance, but at least they would buy Mogor some time. His Trolls and Raiders hiding behind nearby bush Mogor crawled to the top of the hill. * * *  
  
Dhaine felt queasy about approaching the massacre site. Of all of Alleria's company of rangers he was the only one left, and only because he snuck past the Orcs to get help. Prince Wrynn and Kurdan had tried to assure him he did the right thing, that if he'd stayed he and the archmage would have been killed too. They were probably right.  
  
When Dhaine turned toward the humans to tell them the body was at the top of the hill; he saw four Orcs charging their way. "We're under attack!" the ranger shouting as he launched an arrow toward the lead Orc. It tore through the Orc's chest and out the back but the brute kept coming. The dwarves' shots were hasty; most of them missed but one dropped the wounded Orc and eviscerated it. Another rifle shot hit an Orc's shoulder; blasting off his arm, he didn't seem to notice. Dhaine's second arrow hit the amputee in the throat, the force of the shot dropped the Orc on his back, it lay still.  
  
As Dhaine shot the one-armed Orc, the farthest attacker wounded the Elf with a spear. The strength of the throw took the spear through Dhaine's forearm; it stabbed the Elf again below the shoulder, pinning his arm in place. With the dwarves still fumbling with their rifles, the footmen dropped the wood they were carrying and ran to the fore, hacking down the two remaining Orcs before the beasts could reach the gunners.  
  
"Why would they come here?" Dhaine dropped his bow, "There's nothing around here but Alleria's body."  
  
"They're probably here to steal it; who knows for what," the footman captain pointed his sword toward the hill, "Move out, we'll take the body back to base and burn it there." The footmen broke into a run.  
  
"Wait," Dhaine started to pursue but a dwarf gunner held him back.  
  
"You ain't going anywhere with that spear in you," The dwarf reached for a healing kit, "Don't worry, my gunners will look after them."  
  
* * *  
  
Mogor hid low in the grass against the slope. He couldn't see the humans from his angle, but their voices carried clearly. Mogor tensed, waiting, waiting.  
  
The explosion killed their captain along with several others, and sent the rest of the footmen flying. The humans in their rush to reach Alleria's body stumbled onto a magic rune trap Mogor cast for them. The Ogre Mage rose as the wolfriders came out of hiding and tore onto the shell-shocked footmen. Dazed and hurt the humans could offer no resistance. Mogor stuffed Alleria's body in a sack he slung over his shoulder, "We got what we came for. Raiders fall back!"  
  
The wolfriders turned and followed Mogor's thundering steps. The Troll hatchet carriers stayed to guard their leader's retreat; in the distance Mogor could hear shouting, the boom of rifles and the thump of thrown axes hitting flesh. Five of the Trolls would later return to camp.  
  
That night the strange birds eat the she-elf's remains, and the birds that partook in the dubious feast were fed Orc, Troll and Ogre blood.  
  
One Orc looked to Mogor, "They won't be born part Elf, will they?"  
  
"No," Mogor snarled to shut him up. The fact was they might be part Elf, and then the Elf's remains might not do anything at all, but it was a chance that needed to be taken if the Orcs and Mogor himself were to pass their seed on and be remembered. The only alternative was to die out and vanish from history.  
  
All that can be done now, Mogor knew, is to wait and see what happens.  
  
Twenty more days passed. Mogor was studying a map his spies had made about the makeshift village the humans were building. The scouts had to be content with watching from afar, little snuck past the guards and the humans had also cleared long grass and bush that might give enemies any cover. He took a writing bone and began to mark key locations on the map when the tent curtain was thrown open, the sun and yelling made him spill the vial of blood ink all over the map.  
  
"Damn you stupid-" Mogor paused, the Orc in the door way was holding twin Orc infants.  
  
"They hatched," The Orc exulted, "Trolls, Orcs and Ogres, all female. And the warlocks insist none of them have any Elf blood in their veins."  
  
Mogor forgot the map and grinned, it had worked! It would take at least fourteen or fifteen years before the females could mate but it was a step in the right direction, "What are we going to do about feeding them?"  
  
"The trolls found some herd creatures suckling their young. The other Ogres are helping them round up a few right now."  
  
Morgor laughed. The Laughing Skull Clan had cheated Oblivion again. 


	4. Exile Chapter 3: Haven

Warcraft: Exile  
  
Chapter 3: Haven  
  
Varien opened the book and began to write on the first blank page, 'It is been forty sunrises since we've come to this planet. Houses have windows albeit barred ones, crops are being reaped, people have paired up and are talking about starting families. Somewhere along the way we stopped thinking of this world like a desert island and more like a home. In fact Kurdan convinced us to name this settlement Haven.  
  
'As for our *neighbours*- the Laughing Skull have kept to themselves since the skirmish over Alleria's mortal remains. I try to tell myself they likely took it as a trophy and nothing more, but what I was taught about the Orc warlock Gul'dan makes me fear she was used in some abominable experiment.  
  
'Well we are on our guard; everyone keeps their combat skills sharp. What else can be done? I could grow to love this world, but for that I must always watch my back. Varien Wrynn, Prince of Azeroth, Knight of the Silver Hand.'  
  
Closing the book, Varien hefted his bilateral sword and rose to his feet. For breakfast he cut a piece of cheese made from milk of native animals. Filling, but with a strange taste that lingered and wouldn't go away.  
  
Leaving the fortified Hall Varien observed the night guards coming inward to rest while their relief were heading to the watch posts. Quiet as the Orcs had been nobody was willing to relax with them so close. The mystic sanctum twinkled and glittered with faerie fire, while the workshop buzzed with activity forging and maintaining the rifles and mortar launchers Haven's defence needed. His feet took him to the Barracks, the doors swung open to admit him. On the shooting range he found the warrior he sought.  
  
Dhaine's arrow thudded into he centre of the bull's eye; splitting the arrow he'd hit it with moments before. Lowering the bow, he pulled his undamaged arrows from the target, then sat down to unstring the bow. Prince Wrynn was out of sight but sunlight through an arrow slit left a telltale shadow. The Elf turned to look at his human monarch.  
  
Varien smiled, "I see your arm has got its strength back."  
  
Dhaine nodded, "Not that I've had much use for strength lately."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Dhaine glared at Varien, expecting the meaning to be obvious, "I ran away again. That's all I've done lately, it seems."  
  
Varien sighed, "Dhaine, the dwarfs and footmen were already dead. It was five trolls against two; and you were wounded.  
  
"What kind of soldier am I if all I do is retreat?"  
  
"What kind of soldier would you be if you launched a suicide attack and deprived Haven of one more defender?" Varien put a hand on the Elf's shoulder, "You'll get your chance to hurt them back. But you have to choose your fights carefully. And don't let anger throw you in front of flying Troll hatchets."  
  
Dhaine head lowered, "One of the magi was here. She asked to let you know Rogket wanted to show you something at the farthest cannon tower."  
  
Varien nodded and walked out. Dhaine let his unstrung bow to rest, absently picked an arrow from his quiver and began studying the arrowhead. Something came to him; he got to his feet and left the barracks, toward the workshop.  
  
* * * Varien saluted to the sentinels at the cannon tower and they admitted him. Climbing the rope ladder, he approached Archmage Rogket, "You asked to see me?"  
  
Rogket nodded, "Turn your ear in the direction of the Orc base and listen closely."  
  
Varien did so. After neither of them talking, he began to make out a faint noise, "Screaming or wailing? Are they torturing someone?"  
  
Rogket smiled, "I wouldn't put them above it, but my sensitive hearing tells me different. What you heard was crying- the crying of infants."  
  
"Infants? They're breeding? But I thought their clan only sent-"  
  
"Males? As did I, but I cannot argue with the sounds I have heard. I have considered trying to divine the answers."  
  
"I had some success looking into their home with my Paladin training, but Mogor and the warlocks have been able to block my sight as of late." Varien looked on the horizon, "Right now there's a different question that's taken up much of my thought."  
  
"And that is?"  
  
"I have a hard time believing such a fertile world would have no peoples native to it. I think we should take steps to seek out signs of other races. Possible allies, potential threats, anything of the like."  
  
"Alerting any native cultures to our existence could be dangerous. We already have the Laughing Skull to worry about; it's likely indigenous cultures would see both of us as- infestations.  
  
"We could use astral travel but it could be traced, and there is the risk of attracting otherworldly attention."  
  
"By otherworldly you mean-"  
  
"Demons."  
  
The D-word. Varien remembered having to take up his two-pronged sword against several such horrors, both in Azeroth and Dreanor. He had no desire to encounter any of their ilk again, "So what do we do?"  
  
"For now, we should sit tight. Keep our guard up, but refrain from being aggressive- in conquest or exploration."  
  
Varien let out a sigh of resignation, something that seemed to come easier to him more and more, "Well then, let's hope the Orcs are the only ones we have to worry about."  
  
* * *  
"Faster you Maggots! If we spend any more time in this snowdrift than necessary it will melt from the warmth of your blood!" Gorefiend lashed out a blast of negative energy in the air, frightening the necrolytes into scurrying and consequent stumbling. The blackguard's order to move had taken his orcwraiths and warm-blooded servitors through a mountain range that rose a good mile toward the sky. Gorefiend and his Orcwraiths abhorred the snow but wouldn't turn back for fear of being stumbled on by the humans or the horde, and they also detested the necrolytes scooping up as much as they could for water to drink and wash with.  
  
Despite the pain of ethereal bondage, Alleria took a small comfort in the Orcwraiths' misery. Part of her wondered if their loathing of the snow had less to do with comfort than fear of their undead bodies rotting from exposure to water. Unlikely, she had seen beings like them in the rain without being perturbed; except in those instances she had killed the abominations before there was time to learn if it would have any bearing.  
  
Kraugg approached from far off, having news of what lay ahead, "The path takes us between two peaks. There are caves. Lots of caves."  
  
"Well whatever lives in them, if anything, had best stay inside until we're gone," Gorefiend snarled at the necrolytes, "I said pick up your asses, not stumble on them!" Another burst of negative energy tore into the thin air.  
  
For all the necrolytes' stumbling and the Orcwraith's grumbling, Gorefiend's army reached the two peaks soon enough. Cave entrances dotted the rock like holes in smelly dwarf-made cheese; on closer view they had furs covering their entrances-, which meant they were home to more than just animals.  
  
One of the natives showed himself. A furred humanoid, his feet were hooves; his brow bore curved horns and his face distinctly ovine. He was naked except for a belt from which a stone hammer dangled. Gorefiend and Kraugg showed visible discomfort at the sight of the sheep-man's phallus pointing straight at them as if in challenge.  
  
"Go back in your hole, beast. We are only passing through." Gorefiend's mace pulsed.  
  
The ram-creature's response echoed across the range, at first Alleria thought the braying was directed at Gorefiend, but instead it called more sheep-men out of their homes. All of these creatures carried at least one crude weapon, and their faces stated plainly that the Orcwraiths were not welcome.  
  
Alleria winced at Gorefiend's phlegmy laugh; he was going to enjoy killing these creatures, as well as forcing her to aid in the slaughter. 


	5. Exile Chapter 4: Dangerous Games Played ...

Warcraft : Exile  
  
Chapter 4: Playing Deadly Games with Dangerous Toys  
  
Dhaine watched the griffons take to the air. Settling into formation reminiscent of migrating ducks, the winged giants and their riders burst off onto their patrol. It wasn't a sight he got tired of; even after seeing it so many times before, and he watched them a good moment longer before turning back to his task. Dhaine headed for the workshop, where the volunteers he requested would be waiting.  
  
The elf found nine of them; six elves, two men and a dwarf. On open ground near them, gnome pilots in training twirled and rolled around in seats suspended in large rings. The smiths had convinced Prince Varien of the necessity of flying machines to supplement the Griffons- or replace them if worst came to worst. At the moment the dwarves inside the smithy were about shaping wings, engines and such.  
  
Dhaine was greeted by the volunteers with a salute; he motioned for them to follow him and they moved toward the gates in silence. As the door swung upward peasants returned from the sunbat cave, containers on their backs. The gunsmiths had put them to work gathering sunbat droppings as a renewable source of saltpetre for the exploding powder- one more reason why Dhaine resisted the "new technology". He turned toward the forest and broke into a sprint, his volunteers running to catch up.  
  
* * *  
  
A dark and terrible ceremony took place in the territory of the Laughing Skull. On rounded stone pews surrounding the Altar of Dread, the Orcs watched the ritual in fear and awe. On the plartform stood their chieftain, and three Ogres, each holding an obsidan dagger. These particular brutes had impressed Mogor as good fighters and above normal intelligence, and now he had deigned to reward them with the power of the Ogre magi. Chained to the altar between Mogor and his lesser brothers were three Orc infants, born from the blood fed to Mogor's pet birth-hens.  
  
Mogor began chanting in Demonic, a language anyone else would have feared to voice, even the warlocks. Before the first syllables had cleared his throat the sky began to redden and the wind started to moan, a moan of pain. The words he spoke, to any who dared wonder, revolved around the twisting nether- a dark miasma that saturated the Temporal plane, where anger grew and terror spawned, where rancour and rage fused into personifications of destruction- the Daemons.  
  
Fortunately for the Laughing Skull such beings seemed uninterested by the display, perhaps because the ritual was not involving them but rather an appeal to the great faceless Nether itself. Mogor called on the nether to permeate his exceptional Ogres, but just as the birth hens had to be fed Orc blood to hatch orcs, the Nether needed life force offered to it before it could give anything back. Here the hopefuls would give it to the nether.  
  
Near the climax of the ritual clouds turned dark, the strengthening wind moaned louder. Caught up in a trance, the three Ogres raised their daggers as one, then plunged them into their victims.  
  
What sounded like someone in pain turned into the shrieking of unimagined torment. From the slaughtered on the Altar a burst of energy came forth and was pulled up into the sky. And just as quickly as it started it was over. The air fell silent, the sky returned to peaceful blue. When the Orcs looked at the three Ogres again they could tell the giants had changed; now they shared the glimmer of cunning, their multiple heads moved like one, they seemed the descendants of Mogor himself.  
  
Mogor's left head turned to its match, though it said nothing aloud, the other shared its thought that they should maybe maim or slay one of the new Ogre Magi to remind them who ruled around here. Before deciding however shouts came from the guard towers, and all his minions rushed in their direction. Mogor rolled his three eyes.  
  
As usual, the griffon Riders were flying their patrol and, as usual the guards wasted arrows trying to shoot them down. Mogor grumbled to himself how come the Orcs always seem to forget the griffons never flew within range, but worried if he gave them hell about it they'd turn the opposite and not watch for anything- like the sentries he found in one tower passed out from hooch. Their punishment had left many of the Orcs afraid to sleep, much less drink.  
  
By the time he reached the perimeter the griffons were gone, and none of them had been hit. Those that had run to see the action grunted and jumped around, aggravated over their enemies having an air force while they themselves did not. When the rifts started to tear Draenor apart, the Laughing Skull dragons panicked, and were left behind in the rush to escape. Only one of the clan's zeppelins had made it to this world; its pilot kept flying while the gasbag slowly leaked, eventually the Orcs came across Steeq hiding under the cabin like a turtle holed up in its shell.  
  
Although the Goblin resented being put to work at the end of a scimitar, word of the skirmishes with humans after going through the rift made it easier to convince Steeq he would have been killed on sight if the humans had found him first. He was denied safety in numbers; the last of his crew had died on Draenor. Thinking the damage done by the rifts was a sign of judgement day they screamed repentance for turning on the rest of the horde and leapt to their deaths.  
  
At the moment Steeq grumbled in his workshop, trying to keep his 'help' from doing more damage than they already had. The peons assigned him were even stupider than the caricatures that humans made Orcs out to be, and Steeq wondered if Mogor for some twisted form of pleasure wanted the goblin to be ineffective. If so, one would never know from the threats and bellowing Mogor made when told of setbacks. And if Steeq had heard correctly more Ogres were to be promoted to spellcasters.  
  
His fears were confirmed when born-again Ogre Mage Skelton barged in without kicking over a chest of gear that wasn't even in the way, "The boss wants to know what progress you've made." He even used the word progress correctly.  
  
Steeq pointed to his assistants, as if that alone answered the question.  
  
Skelton was not sympathetic, "Mogor assigned you the nimblest fingered workers he had."  
  
"I'd do better with clumsier fingers if they were attached to an Orc with a less-numb brain. Now is there a particular unreasonable demand Mogor asks of me?"  
  
"He wants to know the chances of building that fleet of zeppelin troop carriers he discussed earlier with you."  
  
"Assuming I can find or manufacture enough hydrogen to carry your fat asses," Steeq wondered if part of him wanted Skelton to lash out, "The gas bags would be too explosive, the slighted rupture would take out maybe the whole fleet. You'd probably get better results making flying bombs."  
  
"What about fighter Zeppelins instead?"  
  
"Forget it, the Griffons would play with them like a hellcat with sabre- toothed voles. If you had any idea of the attrition rate the zeppelins had on Azeroth-"  
  
"No I don't know how hard a beating they took in Azeroth," Skelton folded his arms, "But I don't care, and neither does Mogor. If you can't design an air force make a bow with a farther range or-"  
  
"Or what? I'm the only inventor Mogor has left and even if he grinds me into meat for those stupid birds, without an adult goblin to rear them they'll be about as inventive," Steeq pointed his extra thumb behind him, "As these losers." Seemingly on cue one of the peons knocked over the table, smashing every flask and beaker Steeq had and leaving all the chemicals they contained to sink into the soil.  
  
Skelton shook one head in bewilderment, "Fine, we'll find better help. But Mogor's patience is not eternal. And you would do well to hold your tongue or we might decide we're better off struggling on without you." Skelton shouted to the peons to follow him, Steeq was grateful to finally be relieved of the incompetents. * * * The figure was barely noticeable; in fact several volunteers did not notice it at all until, after a flash and loud thunk, the head of the scarecrow disguised by branches and bush rolled into the open, a broken shaft sticking out of its skull of carved squash. The volunteers looked in the direction they thought the arrow came from and jumped when Dhaine called out from behind them.  
  
The Ranger cleared his throat, "During the Second war, when the Horde was pushing its way into Stromgarde, there were many bowmen and Elf scouts that found themselves stranded in Khaz Modan, cut off from the rest of Alliance forces. Unable to reach and join their brothers on the front, they took to fighting a different way, trying to demoralize the Occupying army with assassination and sabotage. The sharpshooters were born.  
  
"A sharpshooter must balance the patience to wait days for a target of opportunity, with the skill to stay hidden. It's a thankless task and a perilous one, but those who master it might slay more enemies than any berserker."  
  
The dwarf, a youth named Samwise who'd yet to grow a beard held up a hand, "You know, an arrow wouldn't be near as damaging as a musket ball-"  
  
"I'm afraid dwarf rifles would be the worst choice of weapon for a sharpshooter. They're too noisy, give off too much smoke and I have noticed they tend to. deviate."  
  
Samwise stared at Dhaine as if the ranger had insulted the entire dwarf people, "This is the first time I've ever heard that."  
  
"Because until now, dwarf gunners have usually been shooting at a charging mass of grunts. A straying bullet might not be a liability in such circumstances, but this requires absolute precision." Momentarily a vein under Samwise's forehead was quite visible, but he slowly calmed himself and held back his tongue.  
  
Dhaine heard no more questions, he unslung his pack and opened it, there were half strung bows and full quivers, one of each for the volunteers. For many days hereafter, they would barely put down the weapons at all.  
  
* * *  
  
Mogor listened to Skelton until the underling was finished, "So Steeq tells us zeppelins are no longer an option? I should have flattened his useless skull when we found him!" Mogor started to pace, his eye fixated on the ruins of the farm where he found the birthing hens. His heads then faced each other, seeming to have some sort of silent conversation. Finally Mogor headed for the stronghold, waving Skelton to follow.  
  
Entering Mogor's chambers the chieftain rummaged through the parchments on his desk. Finally he found what he sought, a map of all the places his Orcs had been on this planet. He noted the spot where they first pitched camp after fleeing Draenor, traced the route followed to the abandoned farm they had pulled up stakes.  
  
He studied Haven, the human township intently. They had built most of the city against sides of the rock formation they quarried from, shielding Haven with a barrier of stone, especially against a nearby forest which otherwise would have provided suitable cover for an assault. They also built a wooden palisade with arrow slits built in and several cannon towers spaced along its perimeter. They even regularly cleared bush for twenty feet around this fence.  
  
"We've barely begun to explore this world, other than to pinpoint the Alliance's location and finding the birthing hens. I think we should organize details to do so, perhaps we will find answers to our problems elsewhere," Mogor turned to Skelton, "Start assembling teams." Skelton nodded and headed off.  
  
* * *  
  
Dhaine launched his blunted arrow toward the patch of green cloak he saw in behind the tree and unexpectedly watched his own shot be knocked out of the air by someone else's. Turning his head, he saw Samwise stand up, his cloak absent and his face in a grin, until another blunt arrow sent the dwarf on his back. By the time he sat up and spat out his dislodged tooth Dhaine was standing beside him.  
  
"Showing your face like that was a big mistake. The Troll scouts aren't going to laugh with you, they're going to split your skull," Dhaine glowered for a long moment before his face softened, "But your aim is superb." He took Samwise's arm and helped the newly gap-toothed dwarf stand.  
  
Tactical blunder aside, Dhaine felt proud of the dwarf. Two weeks of drills and Samwise had emerged as possibly his best student. He pointed to the cloak his pupil had draped over a sapling as a decoy, just then a trilling sound came from farther in the wood. It might have been mistaken for bird song, except to those who had learned to recognized messenger arrows.  
  
All of the sharpshooters converged on Thavirat's location, he pointed to the tracks. Some brute on two legs had ploughed his way through the bush; from its girth and clumsiness it could only be an Ogre. There were also what might have been Orc tracks, though they were mostly wiped out from the brute's plodding steps. Dhaine marked where the footprints headed; he and his students became as ghosts, invisible in the trees, disturbing nothing.  
  
It took them long, but they reached the limits of the wood. Staying behind the outer layer of trees they saw an Ogre and multiple grunts standing among what looked like ruined buildings. Most hung open with one or two walls torn down, others had collapsed outright. Of some only the foundations remained, looking like fences built to keep in tiny herds.  
  
Samwise whispered to Dhaine, "We could kill all of them before they could blink."  
  
Dhaine considered it. The Ogre and Grunts were very tempting targets, but when the rest of the Laughing Skull missed them and realize what happened they would likely retaliate; and Dhaine wasn't ready to risk Haven's safety just to score some hits. He gestured for them to return to Haven, report this to the Prince.  
  
Varien took in Dhaine's account, "These ruins, how far are they?"  
  
"About thirty, maybe forty miles to the southeast. Most of the buildings are at least partly held up, I'd guess as much area as Grand Hamlet on Azeroth took up."  
  
Kurdan's brow furrowed, "You should have shot them down when you had the chance, there would have been less enemies to defend against," He turned to Varien, "The boys in the shop have been looking for someplace to test fly a bombing run. This abandoned city looks perfect, and they tell me the machines can carry them ten times that distance. We might even kill the Orcs and Ogre after all."  
  
Varien shrugged, "All right, do it." Kurdan headed for the workshop, Dhaine and his sharpshooters, wearing from manoeuvres headed for the tavern to rest. Varien turned grim as he saw the flying machines take to the sky. Part of him remembered Kurdan's proposition of using the flyers to bomb the Laughing Skull Clan off the planet. Not a pleasant notion, but the Orcs might not give them alternatives. With every skirmish, it was increasingly difficult to see one community at peace without annihilating the other.  
  
* * *  
  
Skelton addressed the Wolfrider, "Ruined as this city is, there is much we can use. One of the few intact buildings has made for a serviceable outpost, and Grughr has found a fortified underground level beneath one of the centre ruins. Tell Mogor we'll need more hands to bring loot back."  
  
The raider nodded. As his wolfriders turned to head back to base he stopped and faced Skelton again, "I'm supposed to tell you, Mogor said to go around the forest for now, the trolls have found signs of pinkos doing battle drills inside." And with that the raiders went off, careful not to go through the wood.  
  
Skelton went back to his work and found Kleetas standing still looking up at the sky, "Damn it Kleetas what are you staring at?"  
  
"D'em big birdies that's headed our ways," Kleetas pointed above the forest.  
  
Skelton looked where the grunt pointed. They weren't birds, but they didn't look like griffons either. They made a strange whirring sound that made the Ogre-mage think of motors; and they came, to use the expression as the carrion bird flies, from-  
  
"Haven! Flying machines from Haven! Everybody into the cellar!"  
  
By the time the Orcs had slammed shut and barred the cellar doors the flying contraptions filled the air with their chopping propellers. Soon those sounds were accompanied by dropping bombs, whose explosions drowned out everything else. The walls shook with each blast, pieces of the ceiling fell and shattered yet the room held. That was little comfort to the Orcs; these flyers could return to Haven, resupply and level their base before they could reach it themselves.  
  
Skelton had a notion, it was crude at best but time was short, "Stuff the sacks with anything- even rubble! Just make it look like they're holding something." Running to the doors, Skelton hurled his shoulder into them, already preparing to conjure the eye of Kilrogg.  
  
* * *  
  
Beggren took the lead, six other flyers behind him. The ruins lay waiting, he held out his hand telling the pilots to standby. Once the rear wing was over the first buildings he reached and pulled the drop lever, his wingmen seeing it did the same. One by one the bombs fell, and every one rang true. On turning around, the pilots saw that everything had been flattened. If the guard towers could be dealt with, a salvo like this would relieve Haven of the Orcs once and for all.  
  
Patting themselves on the proverbial back the flyers turned toward Haven. Starting to cross the forest canopy they heard bellowing and shouts that carried even over their motors. Turning back the pilots saw an Ogre yelling threats to several grunts; all of them running in the distance and bearing full sacks.  
  
Beggren knew it was likely the Orcs only carried some paltry loot, but the possibility they might have found artefacts or magic that could be used against Haven was too dire to be ignored. He threw his hand forward, signalling the other flyers to attack. It seemed they would break in their spearguns as well.  
  
Skelton's left head turned to see the flyers taking the bait. He threw himself sideways, narrowly avoiding impalement. The grunts dropped their sacks of rocks and started heckling the flyers, a couple threw their sacks at the machines including Kleetas who got hit by his own sack and laid low. A spear pinned Grughr's leg to the ground, he broke it in half and pulled his leg free only to be run through by missile launched from two other flyers. Skelton's right head didn't even notice the battle, it concentrated wholly on the eye of Kilrogg reaching the wolfriders, if they didn't get here in time the flyers would kill them all and get away clean.  
  
With one head fixated on the flyers and the other miles away, Skelton tripped over a dead Grughr, and fell, both brains losing concentration. Three flyers closed in on him like vultures, priming their shots-  
  
The spears never came, howling and barking put the pilots on the defensive. The Raiders had seen the Eye of Kilrogg in the distance and doubled back, immediately knowing something was amiss; now they expertly snared the flyers in their nets. Having been built to carry twelve thirty-pound bombs not even a Wolfrider had the brawn to pull such a machine down, but their nets were reinforced with steel mesh for strength, they tangled the propellers and sent the airborne killers to the ground, where Skelton and the Orcs made short work of their pilots. Hacking down several saplings, the raiders made travois to carry back three of the machines, the others were torched.  
  
That night Steeq studied the motors of the flying machine, giddy as a child with a new toy, "Fascinating! It burns Hydrogen and oxygen to make water, but then it splits the water back into hydrogen and oxygen! Continually recycling its own fuel, it's genius!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah we're all happy for you," Skelton grumbled, "Now can you duplicate this or not?"  
  
"Actually, I think I can," for the first time in many days Steeq's smile had no sarcasm, "I'll work out the specifics of lumber needed to make the wings."  
  
"Lumber? The only source of lumber around here is the forest, and that's been turned into a human training ground."  
  
"Well I guess you'll have to take it back from them if you want your air force- the trolls are superlative trackers if I recall."  
  
"Oh really? You are the most helpful one, aren't you?" The Ogre Mage hissed through clenched teeth. Seeing him storm out, the goblin bit his hand to keep from giggling. 


	6. Exile Chapter 5: The Shale Dwarves

Warcraft: Exile  
  
Chapter 5: The Shale Dwarves  
  
By all the laws of nature, it should not have been able to live. A cactus towering two hundred feet, possibly more, and at least seventy feet wide. In the cloudless desert the moon showered the land in light, and the great Blackguard's army marvelled at the spiked colossus, and others spaced out farther in the distance.  
  
A common sentiment echoed among the necrolytes, how could a plant grow to such proportions in a land with little, if any water? Even some of the Orcwraiths muttered words of the cacti draining the life of the desert.  
  
Gorefiend lambasted them for their fear, "Fools and cowards! This and others like it have grown here for centuries, perhaps longer and the desert endures. Look with bold eyes! Could it be any more a perfect choice to build a citadel?"  
  
Kraugg directed Gorefiend's attention to several burrows dug into the cactus; one at the level of the sand, two others higher up and all wide enough to admit an adult Wyrm "Sir, Those burrows were dug by beasts that have already laid claim to this citadel. By their size these beasts are likely massive and powerful."  
  
"Then we shall kill those beasts and take their homes, as we have done time and time again. Take the Lannan-she to the higher perches and slay what you find within, my Ururghul shall deal with what lies below."  
  
Even though such efforts had proved wasted before, Alleria screeched in refusal and tried to fly away, she had been used to cause too much bloodshed already. And just as before she was wracked with unliveable pain, then her spectral form flew to the higher burrows against her wishes. The Orcwraiths chuckled at Gorefiend's total dominance over her.  
  
* * * Even for a mine, the mood was dark. Men and dwarves robotically dug clumps of sulphur out of the cave walls, wine-soaked scarves draped over their faces to bar sulphur dust from their lungs.  
  
Not too long ago this task was done with merriment, a proud contribution to Haven's defence. But another battle had gone to the Orcs. The flying bombers so many had hoped to destroy the Mogor's base were lost to the Horde, their pilots found slashed and crushed.  
  
Dheeldur's picked swung with the force of a wet noodle, clumps of sulphur fell at his feet and he if did notice, he couldn't bring himself to pick them up. His eyes stared into the rock wall; tears streaked along a dwarf face weighed down with apathy.  
  
If the miners weren't sluggish in their efforts they were the opposite; smashing through the sulphur, striking the rock over and over as if it were the belly of Mogor himself. One such digger, one who had been barely a boy when he volunteered to defend Azeroth and had aged ahead of his time since smashed his pick into the same spot, scoring a dent that went deeper until the pick broke through to open space.  
  
The sound of the youth's scream, the clatter of his dropped pick and the rush of air from the opening all took a moment to register in the heads of the other miners. Slowly they turned to see the youth staring at the opening he had made- but where did it lead? The foreman almost snapped at the youth to get back to work, but something held him back. Part of him worried about the opening; wouldn't believe it was just another pocket of air that had been trapped by cooling magma. The foreman called for hammers to be ready to break it down the rock wall, he then took the youth's shoulder, "Get the Prince. And the Archmage."  
  
When the boy returned he struggled to catch his breath from running. Rogket, however bounded behind him without the slightest inkling of fatigue. Despite the barrel-sized torso held up on stick legs, the Archmage rarely showed sign of physical exertion; something he credited to his mixed parentage- dwarf strength and elf grace. Prince Wrynn, fully armoured, bearing a heavy greatsword and for the last few weeks afflicted with insomnia, took some time to catch up.  
  
The Prince and Archmage were shown the opening, Varien seemed annoyed, "Miners find air pockets plenty of times, what's so important about this one?"  
  
"There is light coming from the other side, " Rogket pointed out, "Light but no heat, which rules out magma. Unless this world can contain a star underground, someone lives on the other side."  
  
"I thought you cautioned against seeking out native cultures."  
  
"It may be too late for isolationism, very likely what lies on the other side may already have heard us, or even detected the miners' work well before coming this far. At least, we should know a little more about them."  
  
Varien shook his head, "I don't think so, I can see behind that rock without advertising our presence." With that he dug a tip of his sword into the dirt and reached inward.  
  
A yellow aura covered his eyes. He seemed weightless, ethereal. Abruptly he returned to normal, but with an expression even more worried. Varien turned to the foreman, "Are there any other veins of sulphur?"  
  
The foreman pointed further up the shaft, "There's a fork in the vein slanting downward, probably goes right under Haven."  
  
"Good. Then mine your sulphur from it. I want this tunnel leading up to that fork collapsed-"  
  
"But Prince-"  
  
"And no arguments."  
  
That night Varien sat and poured himself an urn of dewberry wine before sitting on his bed. He absently picked up his sword and started to contemplate it. Forged with iron dug by humans, folded as steel by dwarf smiths and cooled in the waters of the sunwell, it had been made as a symbol of the goodly races' cooperation and unbreakable unity. Instead the unbreakable bonds had eroded from complacency and petty bickering, an alliance outlived by the artefact forged to represent it.  
  
Varien twirled the sword in his hand, the opposite blades cutting a circuit through the air. Abruptly he paused to regard the chipped edge, the edge that had disembowelled Killrog Deadeye. The dent in the steel took him back to Draenor, back to Auchindoun.  
  
The Orcs had laughed at the mass of knights and "dirty old dwarves" gathered outside, but the smiles fell from their faces when the dirty old dwarf mortar crews blasted their north wall to gravel. The warriors had charged in ranks two to three Orcs deep, most of them blasted apart by rifles before the gunners stepped back for the knights to butcher the rest and charge into the exposed fortress. Against this clan that had despoiled their ancient homes and fled through the portal to escape retribution, there could be no mercy. The smallest youngling would be denied breath.  
  
Varien trod the streets between the burning hovels, both blades slick with Orc blood. Scanning for enemies, his eyes fell on a figure covered in a cloak running from one of the homes. Blood rage enveloped him, He thundered forward and cut down the figure. Only when it dropped and the cowl fell back did he realize he had killed a mother and the child she held in her arms. Feeling a stare in the back of his neck Varien turned around to see Kilrogg Deadeye, one hand holding a blood-soaked sword, the other dangling a knight's head by the hair.  
  
"Congratulations, Human" The Warlord snarled, "You just bested a den mother."  
  
"Your actions brought this doom upon her, yourself and your clan, you'll not trouble my conscience."  
  
Deadeye growled, and when Varien didn't flinch the brute charged forward, sword held high. Varien blocked Kilrogg's swing with his own sword; cutting off the Orc cleaver below the hilt, the reverse cut slashed through Deadeye's abdomen, bouncing off his hipbone and chipping in the process. What Kilrogg had for bones that could damage such a weapon the Prince could only imagine.  
  
A torrent of blood splashed over Varien's feet with intestinal tract in pursuit. Varien watched Deadeye's green skin jaundice before him, turning grey as the body hit ground. For the first time he recalled taking the Orc's scalp, which had hung on his armour ever since.  
  
The Prince jumped at the knocking on the door. Holding the sword ready, he pulled the door open with his free hand-  
  
It was Rogket, "I know it's a little late, but isn't that overreacting a bit?"  
  
Varien's shoulders dropped, "Sorry, I found myself drifting back to Auchindoun."  
  
"Indeed," Rogket walked inside and on noticing the urn picked it up to see how full it was, "Carried there on the dewberry current, by any chance?"  
  
"These days I need a little help getting some sleep."  
  
Rogket almost said something but stopped himself. He put down the urn and waddled to Varien, "Before I forget why I came here; you saw something behind that rock wall, something that frightened you. What was it?"  
  
Varien brushed hair out of his eyes, "Rooms. Maybe a thousand of them, all tiny and all with the exact same dimensions. Like in a wasp nest."  
  
"You saw who inhabited these rooms?"  
  
Varien nodded, "They looked like dwarves- with grey skin and hair that glittered like silver or gold. But that wasn't what bothered me- they all dressed alike, spoke alike, groomed their hair exactly the same style; even their footsteps moved in perfect sync with each other. And even though I couldn't understand what they said, some seemed to be pointing in the direction of Haven to others."  
  
The Archmage was aghast, "Then they already know about us, they're likely preparing to attack us even now," Rogket picked up the wine-filled urn again, "This is not a good time for you to sedate yourself," and poured the wine into the sitting aside chamber pot.  
  
Outside the palisade Dhaine and his sharpshooters approached the gate, eager to get back to their beds for rest. The watchman recognized them and called for the door to open. It had barely swung closed behind them when an attack flare lit up the sky.  
  
"What's going on?" The same watchman shouted, "We can't be under attack, there's nothing out there!"  
  
"Then we are besieged from within!" Dhaine shouted, "Move out!" The sharpshooters dispersed.  
  
Moments before Dhaine's return, and as Vairen spoke with his dwelf friend, three dwarf riflemen posted near the point of the tunnel collapsed shivered in the cold night sharing whiskey to keep warm. From Kurdan's personal still, it was powerful and smoky, said to be strong enough to dissolve an elf's lower jaw if one ever tried to drink it.  
  
Despite being well on the way to intoxication, they were sober enough to hear the sounds from behind the wall of rubble. Diggers, many of them, were shovelling their way. Two aimed their guns at the rubble while the third ran for the cave entrance. He heard his brothers fire their weapons and suddenly scream, barely reached the flare holstered along the cave wall and, as he shot it, saw the ground rushing up to meet him. By the time Varien and Rogket had responded to the alarm Knights, gunners and militiamen were already skirmishing against the dwarves Varien spoke of. The intruders parried and fought back with very un-dwarven curved swords and pronged daggers.  
  
Rogket hurled lighting at the nearest attacker, the opposing forces were so tightly packed any more destructive spells would have killed his own troops. Varien rushed to cut down two enemy dwarves that had cornered a footman, the two humans then turned to find more invaders.  
  
Kurdan hacked and bashed his way through the mass of enemies; attacked by three at once he managed to kill two before the third caught his hammer and axe in pronged daggers and pulled them out of his hands. Kurdan grabbed the grey dwarf's neck and started constricting just as another plunged a blade that appeared made of blue-black smoke into his back.  
  
Varien bellowed, and charged toward the two attackers, slashing down those that tried to intercept him. The grey dwarf that stabbed Kurdan, hearing the prince's shouts turned to counterattack; Varien's sword blasted through the dwarf's arm severing it below the elbow, then impaled the attacker through the skull.  
  
On freeing the blade Varien found resistance, the few seconds of delay was all the dwarf who disarmed Kurdan needed. Holding down the sword with his daggers the attacker kicked out Varien's leg and caused him to fall, dropping his sword. It laughed as Varien grabbed his broken leg.  
  
With the familiar twang of bowstrings followed by a sound similar to a window shattering the grey dwarf fell, an arrow through each eye. More arrows lunged from the dark, silencing other grey dwarves. Though undeterred by human warriors in melee, unseen shooters seemed to daunt the invaders; the survivors ran down the mineshaft. The last one stopped at the tunnel mouth and uttered something in its alien tongue; the rock around the tunnel mouth turned to mud and buried the entrance.  
  
Dhaine and his sharpshooters stormed into the open whilst priests scrambled to treat the wounded. As one cleric tended to fusing Varien's leg the prince pulled forward the body of the grey dwarf that dropped him, and examined it with the curiosity of a scientist, momentarily shutting out everything else.  
  
Its skin was the colour and texture of porous stone, metallic strands of hair glittering in torchlight. Its teeth looked reminiscent of granite, and one eye that had been hit beneath by the arrow still remained intact; it was a tiny, shimmering geode. Much of the dwarf's blood had trickled down its face; Varien pressed his hand onto some of the blood and held out his palm so the firelight could catch it- it was dark green. Varien was mesmerized by the strangeness of it all Rogket had to shake him to get the prince's attention.  
  
"I'm sorry Prince," Rogket pulled his hand back, "For a moment I feared they got you as well."  
  
"Got?" Varien stood, leaning so little of his weight was on the leg that had been fused together, "What do you mean?"  
  
"That." Rogket pointed toward Kurdan and the others who had been struck by the alien dwarves' swords- they lived! However they didn't move or speak, and unless someone pulled them to their feet they would simply lie where they had fallen.  
  
Varien rushed to Kurdan. He called out the dwarf's name, waved a hand in front of Kurdan's face, then backhanded him across the cheek; all without a response or hint of acknowledgement. Baffled, Varien looked past Kurdan's shoulder to see a footman's torch, and then looked the light around Kurdan, "Where's his shadow? He doesn't draw a shadow!"  
  
The others held light close to the other 'zombies', "This one doesn't have a shadow either!"  
  
"Or this one!"  
  
"None of them do!"  
  
Rogket locked eyes with Varien, "Those swords made of smoke they carried- instead of killing someone's body they steal the mind? The soul?" The words carried and panicked the soldiers even further; many started to scream or whimper until Varien signalled a mortar team to get their attention with another flare.  
  
"As you were!" the Prince shouted, "If these beings can capture their minds we can rescue them but we must hurry!" The Prince pointed to a captain, "Assemble a detail," Then to a cleric, "Gather some of the magi. The rest of you will guard Haven in case these dwarves come back- or anything else shows up." Varien turned to Dhaine, "We'll need your sharpshooters to cover us."  
  
Dhaine nodded. The footmen and Magi gathered, "Prince it would take days to clear that tunnel," A footman pointed out.  
  
"And that entrance is likely guarded, " Rogket pointed out, "But fear not, making our own is less of a problem than you think." The dwelf scattered a luminous powder in a circle next to the rescue party. The ground inside the circle tremored and churned, the dirt erupting into the air and settling into the form of a hunchbacked, wizened old man.  
  
Rogket held out his hands, "Sedemataros, native of the elemental plane of stone, father of the soil, foundation of the universe. We entreat you for assistance."  
  
"I know what plagues you. The Shale Dwarves, thought rooted from my universe and built from my element have long been corrupted. A dire fate awaits their prisoners."  
  
The Elemental Lord pointed to the ground, the soil rose nearly ten feet before an opening fell away.  
  
"The tunnel will lead you to their inner hive. I will try to convince others of my ilk to help distract their warriors, but I cannot guarantee anything." Rogket made a quick bow in thanks; the others had already run down the tunnel.  
  
As the party moved through the tunnel, the rock wall at the end pushed ahead of them, growing farther with each step. Eventually on reaching the hive it blasted open an act that alone scattered and disoriented many Shale Dwarves nearby.  
  
On clearing the tunnel Varien and the footmen hacked a swath through those that stood in their way. Dhaine's sharpshooters loosed volleys of arrows into dwarves seeing the carnage from higher levels. Rogket unleashed a blizzard spell on a mass of Shale Dwarf warriors approaching, while his students polymorphed many of them to add further confusion. With the entire section of the hive in chaos Varien ran down the hive, with the others following him. Having seen much of the hive through his visions only that afternoon the Prince knew exactly where to go.  
  
The hive was built around a stone pillar, flat, rectangular and black as pitch. Only on killing the guards and breaking through the door did Varien see it now surrounded by Shale Dwarves in ceremonial robes; and the flat surface of the pillar embossed with screaming, moving faces of humans- and Kurdan.  
  
Still in shock over their interruption the Shale Dwarf clerics did not react until Varien hefted his enchanted blade like a spear and vault it at the pillar.  
  
The pillar exploded, obsidian fragments shredding the dwarf priests. Ghostly silhouettes of his comrade and subjects flew past Varien in direction he came from, not moaning in pain but exulting in release.  
  
Rogket rushed into the room, "You did it, you freed them!" But his face went pale. Varien looked to where the pillar had lain. Standing over his sword was a collossus, with a long sinuous tail, a jaw with needlelike teeth and cloven hooves."  
  
"An Eredar," Rogket trembled, "A Warlock Demon. Kill it, before it gets his bearings!"  
  
Not even pausing to hear the dwelf's plea Varien dived for his sword and swung the far blade toward the devil's knee. The thrice-blessed weapon parted the infernal flesh easily; rising to his feet Varien reversed the swing and ran the demon through. Its skin and flesh liquefied; falling off the skeleton it flowed away then bubbled and evaporated, leaving the demon's bones, dry and white as if they had been bleaching in the sun for years.  
  
Varien and Rogket locked eyes for a long moment. They finally turned to look in the direction they came from. Their warriors had made a hasty phalanx behind them; several were wounded but a mass of shale dwarf bodies littered the ground they faced. Many others were aimlessly wandering further down the hive corridor, completely unconcerned with the rescue party. Several sharpshooters fired on them anyway. The Shale Dwarves that fell were ignored by their brethren; one even trod over by another headed the same way.  
  
"I don't get it," The captain said to Varien, "They were charging us to the last dwarf, suddenly they don't seem to care if we're here, or even about whether they live."  
  
"It doesn't matter, " Varien held his head up, feeling proud of himself for the first time in a long spell, "We saved our people, that's what's important."  
  
Rogket nodded, "There is a skeleton of an Eredar demon in the chamber. Demon remains are very useful to Magi, so I shall bring them with us." Chanting and spelling out runes in the air with his hands, the Archmage called forth a Wind Elemental, which entered the vault and lifted the bones in a miniscule tornado.  
  
Varien sighed in exhaustion, "Let's go home." 


	7. Exile: Chapter 6

Warcraft: Exile  
  
Chapter 6: Origin of an Enemy  
  
They were banished. Hurled from their universe down to the temporal plane, the universe of mortals, and they were afraid. Afraid of aging as time passed, of creatures of muscle and leaves of green they could not feed on, of the soil and minerals they needed for sustenance unable to regrow and replenish itself.  
  
At first glance they could be taken for a race of stocky, flesh bound little men on a sphere far off in the plane's black space. But where the dwarves of Azeroth were sinew and bone, these were granite, metal and crystal. Indeed logic would insist they be immobile, devoid of consciousness, but yet they moved, thought and felt. Accustomed to swimming through a sea of dirt and rock that cradled them their whole lives; these beings felt terror at leagues of open space, and a blue roof that none of them could catch induced panic.  
  
They fled beneath. Finding caves in hills and mountains they took shelter from the agoraphobic surface world in tunnels made from flowing lava or tunnelling animals. Held in placed by terror, they seemed doomed to cower- at least in the beginning.  
  
* * * Varien woke up on his bed, still wearing his armour. Having attacked the Shale Dwarves in their domain and rushing to return home to see Kurdan's state; he had collapsed from fatigue and been dragged to his chambers. He pushed himself to his feet and made for the exit.  
  
There Kurdan was, talking to several of those who had fallen to the strange weapons of the Shale Dwarves. They looked vibrant, animated; and Varien could see they cast short shadows.  
  
Suddenly he noticed other things. Singing could be heard over the hammers of the workshop. Labourers carrying sunbat guano laughed and joked among themselves, even the sun seemed to shine brighter.  
  
The Prince was so caught up in the moment he failed to notice the horse until it almost breathed down his neck. Rushing to the side, he only half- heard the knight's apology, fixated on the winged reptile perched on the knight's arm. The knight had trained the beast the way he would have a falcon back home. The knight saluted and rode back to several of his peers who trained several reptiles of their own.  
  
Varien stared at the 'falconers', then shook his head. At a loss for what he should do, the Prince finally decided to talk to Archmage Rogket.  
  
* * *  
  
Hidden from the frightening open space, they scurried through the caverns, avoiding the beasts or attacking them out of fear and anger. The touch of stonewall all around gave them scant comfort; the absence of light mercifully hid the sights of the life that grew here from them. Smelling the earth, they found deposits of clay, veins of metal and crystals. Iron, gold, rubies, they glutted themselves on the intoxicating minerals.  
  
Their joy was short lived. Whereas in the Elemental plane of stone the soil and rock mingled and reformed from each other, here once consumed it was gone forever and they were forced to follow the veins to find further sustenance. But worse, they found competitors. Fleshlings, beings who couldn't possibly consume the minerals and yet sought to steal the iron from their mouths. When they tried to reason with the fleshlings, they were met with violence.  
  
After several foraging attempts, most resulting in losses more Fleshling warriors came to guard the veins. The banished changed their tactics, watching the paths fleshlings took above ground; they raided the caravans taking as much as they could carry and still be able to reach their caverns in time.  
  
It was only a matter of time before the fleshlings managed to cut off the banished from their lair. Outnumbered they fled through the caverns and ultimately became trapped in a chamber where a flat, regularly shaped pillar rested in the centre. Expecting the fleshlings to move in and slaughter them all the banished were surprised to find their enemies came no further. The faces of the closest fleshlings showed agitation, until the point where all of them abruptly turned and scurried off.  
  
The banished regarded the stone pillar; aside from them it was all that stood in the chamber. One mustered the courage to touch it; on contact with the pillar visions flooded his mind along with a voice, angry and terrible. Something dwelt within the pillar, trapped they imagined, but its presence held the fleshlings at bay, the banished resolved to take shelter within the pillar's aura.  
  
* * *  
  
No matter how many times Rogket had tried to explain it to him, Varien could never see how the arcane sanctum took up more space inside than out. Dozens of rooms within a structure barely larger than a guard tower, frankly it made him nervous. Yet he still entered, a novice at the door directed him to the laboratory the Archmage occupied. Down the corridor, Varien thought he heard one of the smiths from the workshop. Opening the door the voice came from, he saw the engineer talking to an adept, who pointed at several calculations chalked on a stone board and a metal ingot on a nearby table.  
  
"We can refine this metal from clay which is readily available," the adept explained, "It's not as hard as steel, but much more abundant and more importantly, much lighter. A cannon shell made from it might even be able to reach flying targets."  
  
The dwarf nodded, "We would have to make sure the casing is not too soft or the shell might explode inside the cannon. Still the advantage of cannon towers taking down any flyers the Orcs might have," Varien closed the door and kept walking, the engineer and adept never noticed him.  
  
His curiosity got the better of him a second time; peering into another laboratory he saw the skeleton or the Eredar demon he had slain underground. The lower leg he had cut off had been placed within a giant pestle surrounded by several magi, who seemed to be concentrating on the equally large mortar that ground the bones without any hands or visible devices moving it.  
  
Varien wasn't sure he wanted to know what uses demon bone powder had, he turned away and finally saw the laboratory he had been directed to. Looking inside, he saw Rogket and three masters surrounding a table holding the body of a Shale Dwarf. The top of the creature's skull had been sawed off, its left arm had been cut open and 'flesh' peeled back to the 'bone'. Several dishes also lay on the table, one held what looked like a tongue, in the other presumably the creature's brain. Rogket spoke out loud to no one it seemed, the clockwork bird hovering over his shoulder held a pen in one talon and scribed what he said onto hemp paper. Varien raised his hand to knock, the door swung inward before his knuckles touched it. Neither the Archmage or his assistants seemed surprised by his presence; Rogket waved him forward.  
  
Varien tentatively approached the table, Rogket started to address him, "This is the one of the strangest creatures I have had the chance to study," the dwelf motioned the prince to his side, "The skin is a peel of stone, the skeleton it seems is mostly basalt reinforced with lesser amounts of granite," Rogket handed Varien a dish with copper wires in it, "That dish holds several strands of its hair.  
  
"The blood had dried before the body was brought here, but enough residue remained for me to find copper where in a 'normal' dwarf, human or Orc there would be iron. The brain is a mishmash of various minerals, mostly silicon, something that makes a large part of sand."  
  
Directing the Prince to put down the dish of hair, Rogket passed the Prince a monocle and pointed to the flesh of the exposed arm. Looking through the monocle it magnified the flesh of the arm to individual 'cells'.  
  
Rogket spoke again, "As you can see they look like normal muscle fibres at first, but examine them a bit longer and they turn out to be-"  
  
"Crystals!" Varien locked eyes with Rogket, "How could rigid crystals contract or expand like muscle?"  
  
"I haven't learned that yet, and we will likely have to capture and study a live specimen if we are to at all." Rogket turned to another mage, "Freeze him for now, there are some questions I must ask the Prince before we study the internal organs."  
  
Rogket pulled Varien aside; the mechanical owl flittered off and returned with a thick book opened to blank pages in one talon, and a piece of charcoal in the other. Rogket asked Varien to sketch the pillar that the hive was centred around.  
  
Taking the charcoal Varien drew a rectangle standing on the shorter side and blacked in the shape, "That's how it looked when I saw it in my vision, when I saw it in person it looked like Kurdan and some or our people were trying to push their way out of it. Kurdan and the others-"  
  
Rogket held up a hand, "They're fine. Our clerics examined them extensively and Kurdan grumbled and complained the whole time."  
  
Varien relaxed, Kurdan sounded his normal self at least. Rogket added that the people 'claimed' by the Shale Dwarves remembered little other than feeling surrounded by darkness. He than told the Prince he suspected the demon was somehow contained within the pillar. Varien's brow furrowed, "Imprisoned?"  
  
"I don't think so. I couldn't think of a reason why anything that could imprison a demon couldn't destroy it outright, which would probably be the wiser choice.  
  
"I contacted the Elemental lord for questions. He refused to go into reasons for why he banished them from his plane, he did tell me that he peers in on them occasionally; they found the pillar and others like it on this planet and they seemed to them beings native to this world as 'offerings'."  
  
"There are other sleeping demons on this world?"  
  
"Many, possibly a thousand or more. And the Shale Dwarves have built their communities around them, pray to them."  
  
"A thousand or more." Varien had an epiphany, "They're not prisoners- they're reserves! Demon warriors, sent to this world and kept on stand-by until they're wanted again."  
  
"If that's true, than out there is a larger demon army, Azeroth could be in danger! We have to destroy these reserves before they can be recalled."  
  
"That won't be easy, with so many having cities of them-" Varien pointed to the specimen, "Willing to protect their sleeping idols."  
  
* * *  
  
Making their home around the pillar, the banished renewed their raids; always retreating to the safety of the cave the Fleshlings feared to enter. But the pillar was more than repellent; when the banished slept they heard the dreams of the creature inside and it taught them much, of magic and knowledge of the stars, its language and terrible runes. Its presence comforted them, something immovable, stolid in a strange purgatory.  
  
The war the banished fought with the fleshlings escalated until one fateful day. The Fleshlings' shah had come to personally challenge the banished and led the guard of the largest gold shipment the fleshlings had plundered in years. When the banished sprang their ambush he was waiting. Though weaker and softer, the Fleshlings had greater numbers and the Shah was a seasoned strategist. Within in moments more than half the banished in the attack fell and the rest routed, but as they started to flee one loosed a discus that arced through the air and struck the Shah dead.  
  
This final act angered the Fleshlings so that they resolved to hunt down and kill the banished no matter where they hid. Workers and soldiers, women and adolescents took up whatever weapons were available.  
  
The banished returned to their cave to see the pillar vandalized. One of them, having heard instructions from the entity in the pillar chipped pieces off its surface, each shaped like the hilt of a bladeless sword. He was scolded but convinced the others to take these fragments. When held in their hands, the stones extended a blade that appeared made from black, oily smoke.  
  
Emboldened by the peculiar weapons, the banished took the fight to the fleshling army. Where the banished struck the meat creatures' bodies remained unmarked but they dropped their own weapons, did not speak or move, seemed oblivious to their surroundings and themselves. The banished struck down all the meat creatures with these weapons, and though bewildered by the results were still convinced the entity in the pillar had helped them, they took the arms the fleshlings dropped and returned to their cave- unprepared for the sight of their enemies' likenesses trapped in the pillar.  
  
Several of the banished kept watch on the zombie fleshlings, while the rest watched the pillar to see what would happen now. As the night went on, the effigies of the meat creatures were absorbed back into the pillar one by one. When the last was withdrawn and consumed the pillar regenerated the pieces that had been chipped off, then streams of magma burst into the tunnel leading to the cave, immolating the Meat creature zombies, heat and air pressure baking bones to charcoal and then into pure diamond- the richest delicacy the banished could ever hope for.  
  
This final act proved to the banished they were blessed, a great power that would protect and provide for them. And they would help it get the strength to do so by stealing the minds of the otherwise worthless fleshlings. 


End file.
